To Forget
by Amara7
Summary: Not everyone wears their family tragedies around their neck.


Title: To Forget  
Author: Amara  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: None  
Category: Pre-SV; Chloe  
Summary: Because not everyone wears their family tragedies around their neck.  
  
***********************  
Lois Lane was the best damn surgeon at Lady Magdalene  
Hospital in South Metropolis. No one questioned that.  
She declined several offers for a managerial position on  
the grounds that she actually wanted to see her  
daughter sometime before she turned three. When asked  
about her career choice Lois could never resist  
snipping that she never really got the whole yachting  
thing anyway.  
  
Although she was generally liked her strong personality  
made her an outsider and a few enemies. If there was  
one thing the nurses loved to harp on it was her hair.  
Although it was very beautiful it was so long and  
straight it gave her the false appearance of being a  
hippie. Jokes of Dr. Lane attending a sit-on or smoking  
a doobie circulated the floor.  
  
Eventually all of them made their way to Lois.  
  
That is, until the day she strode into the operating  
room with her scrubs tie dyed.   
  
Her eight year old daughter was doing tie dye in art  
class and needed some clothes and Lois had just  
thrown her some of her scrubs without a second thought.  
Chloe's project turned out so nicely and its completion  
just happened to coincide with a nurse mumbling "Turn on,  
tune out, and drop out." which gave Lois an idea.  
  
So Dr. Lane not only did surgery in tie dyed scrubs but  
also the bewilderment of the attending nurses she also  
insisted on listening to Jimi Hendrix.  
  
She pulled off the procedure perfectly and her message  
was clear: It doesn't matter who I am or how I look.  
What matters here is the job I do so you all can just  
shut the hell up.  
  
After that the Janis Joplin was mentioned only in  
passing.  
*****************************  
It was Gabe's turn to do the dishes that evening so  
Lois took her daughter out onto the front porch swing.  
Chloe loved to watch the sights and listen to the  
sounds of Metropolis. Unlike most children her age she  
was not frightened by the sound of sirens. Instead she  
wanted to know why they had to use a siren and where  
they were going.   
  
Lois' speculative explanations were never satisfactory  
and in the end Chloe would just leap out of the swing  
and run into the living room. More often than not the  
television had no special news bulletin and Chloe  
would make her mother promise to check the paper the  
next morning for an explanation.   
  
This particular evening seemed to be without  
interruptions and Lois was able to braid Chloe's hair  
in relative peace. Chloe was sitting especially still  
because she was waiting for her favorite person to  
walk by. Out of all the dog-walkers, joggers and  
pedestrians Chloe loved to watch one person in  
particular.  
  
Lois figured the girl was commuting between classes at  
Metropolis University and an apartment in the area. And  
she just had to be an art major.  
  
Everything the girl wore seemed straight out of a  
thrift store. All her clothes looked vintage yet  
somehow gave the appearance of urban modernism. Her  
clothing was full of varied but subdued colors,  
multiple fabrics and patterns. No outfit was ever  
repeated although she did seem to favor a long old  
khaki skirt. Her neck was always ringed with an  
innumerable amount of necklaces and chokers. It was  
almost like she put a new necklace on and just forgot  
to take off its predecessor. Her hair color vacillated  
from pink to blue and purple in the transition stage.  
And she was never without a pair of funky chunky shoes.  
Lois had no idea how the girl managed her commute  
without a twisted if not broken ankle.  
  
As she finished Chloe's first braid Lois remembered  
something. It was a story she never tired of telling  
and Chloe didn't seem to mind listening:  
  
For Chloe's fourth birthday Gabe's mother had given her  
a dress. And like most parents they felt it necessary  
to get Chloe to wear it at least once.   
  
It had been Lois' idea to take a picture of Chloe in it  
and send it to Mrs. Sullivan who lived in Florida. The  
dress was a ruffly, fluffy, pink confection. And it was  
World War III just getting Chloe into it. She kicked  
and screamed that the dress material was "IIIIITCHY!!!!"  
  
Once they got her into the dress they could not get her  
to smile for the picture much less stop screaming and  
crying. In lieu of picture they sent Grandma Sullivan a  
thank you card with Chloe's scribbly signature.  
  
While Lois was helping Chloe out of the offending dress  
Chloe had made a rather astute remark. With her face  
all scrunched up she stated that she hated that dress  
and it wasn't a "Chloe dress". Lois laughed and gave  
her daughter a hug. She agreed; it definitely wasn't a  
Chloe dress.  
  
On the porch swing Lois hugged her daughter tight,  
"That's what I love about you. You're always Chloe no  
matter what."  
  
Chloe smiled and rested her head against her mother's  
chest. Her eyes light up when the blue haired girl  
walked by.  
*************************  
Chloe tugged on the nun's skirt and demanded the exact  
reason why she couldn't play soccer with the boys.  
Sister Margaret Mary pretended not to hear and Chloe  
continued ranting that what the girls were doing was  
boring and the boys couldn't hurt her. She just wanted  
something to do; the girls just sat at the stupid picnic  
tables and talked. Sister sighed and informed Chloe  
that if she did not sit back down immediately she would  
be facing a detention.  
  
She stomped back to the picnic table, stomping a little  
harder every time she heard an excited yell come from  
the soccer field. When she left the girls were  
interviewing the new girl but now they had moved on to  
another topic, nail polish or something. Chloe didn't  
really care.  
  
The new girl, Chloe thought her name was Emilia, had  
thick glasses which magnified her eyes. After being  
interviewed by her new classmates Emilia had picked up  
a book and was reading quietly. Chloe sat down across  
from her and asked what she was reading.  
  
Emilia lifted the book to show the front cover's  
illustration of a girl with a blonde 50's bob placed  
below an evil eye. Out from the were red psychedelic  
radiations and the words "warning" and "cyclops". The  
title read "#51 Nancy Drew Mystery Stories, The Mystery  
of the Glowing Eye".  
  
Chloe's eyes widened in surprise and without any  
explanation she got up and ran back into the classroom.  
Sister Margaret Mary was busy yelling a direction down  
to the soccer field and Emilia merely shrugged and went  
back to reading.  
  
When Chloe returned gasping for breath in her hand she  
clasp her own Nancy Drew book, "The Thirteenth Pearl".  
Emilia smiled they began a cautious discussion of their  
favorite Nancy Drew books. Eventually they agreed on  
preferring the originals as opposed to the more  
formulaic paperback series. By the end of recess Chloe  
had invited Emilia to sleepover that Friday.  
*******************  
To most parents mother-daughter time meant shopping  
together, watching a chick-flick, or gardening. However  
Lois went by a different definition from an entirely  
different dictionary.  
  
Lois' idea of bonding began with coming home on a  
Friday night and changing out of her hospital clothes.  
Chloe was in charge of making the popcorn and together  
they would dim all the lights in the living room.  
Without fail every Friday night at eight they watched  
The X-Files together.   
  
Originally Gabe objected on the grounds that such a  
scary show would certainly scar their daughter. In the  
end Lois won and the Friday night ritual remained.  
After all though Chloe did love "E.T." even Gabe had to  
admit that deep down her preference was more  
along the lines of "Close Encounters of the Third  
Kind" or "Aliens".  
  
On Chloe's tenth birthday Lois gave her The X-Files  
Book of the Unexplained: Volume One with the  
inscription: The Truth is out there Chloe, and I know  
you'll find it.  
************************  
It had been two years since Emilia moved away. She had  
spent the remainder of fifth grade  
sitting alone at lunch and during the subsequent  
recess. The other girls left her alone and considered  
her an anomaly. She had to be. She didn't even like  
Lisa Frank.   
  
The only person that she talked to on a regular  
basis was a fellow geek named Stephen who shared her  
interest in The X-Files. Every Monday they would  
discuss the previous night's episode but the next day  
Chloe would go back to reading the Daily Planet at  
lunch and Stephen would play Magick with his friends.  
**************************  
The images on the TV screen went zooming by one another  
in an imagery world where the worst that can happen to  
someone is getting hit with a turtle shell. Francis  
jumped  
up from the couch and did a victory yell as the bright  
pixels declared him the winner. Chloe playfully grabbed  
the end of the seven year olds shirt and pulled him  
back onto the couch.  
  
"I let you off easy on that one, Mister Howe. The next  
race if mine!"  
  
They were in the middle of their laps when the phone  
rang. Chloe almost didn't answer it.   
  
The Howe's had just gotten a second line installed and  
its number was apparently previously used by someone of  
the name Christine Gebhart. In just one night of  
babysitting Chloe had already had to explain to three  
of Christine's friends that 555-0098 was no longer her  
number.   
  
On the fourth ring she made Francis pause the game  
figuring that on the off chance that it was the Howe's  
calling they would get nervous if she didn't answer.  
  
Tripping over legos and trucks she swore and nearly  
fell and Francis giggled at her. Finally she reached  
the wall phone; the answering  
machine was just about to pick up. She bent down to rub  
her aching shin and as a result her greeting came out  
kind of stifled.  
  
"Chloe, this is your father."   
  
Any other time she would've rolled her eyes when he  
announced himself and his title. Of course it was her  
father. It wasn't as if she couldn't recognize her own  
father's voice.  
  
But this time she didn't just recognize the sound of  
her father's voice. She recognized the sound of fear  
and it made her sink to the floor. Suddenly, perhaps  
for the first time in her life, she lacked curiosity.  
She was scared and she didn't want to know.  
  
"Are you there?" His voice had risen ever so slightly  
giving off the impression of panic barely kept a bay.  
  
Chloe whispered yes like she used to whisper for a  
glass of water in the middle of the night.  
  
"I'm at Lady Magdalene. You're mom is here." And then  
there was that terrible pause. "As a patient."  
  
Where Chloe sat the cord looped down to her in long  
curly cues and she longed to rip it out.  
  
And the story just kind of spilled out, "There was an  
accident; your mother was coming home from work and a  
guy, they think he was drunk, ran a red light and  
swerved into the other lane and hit her straight on."   
  
She knew what was coming next because of all the stupid  
crappy made-for-TV movies she'd seen. Her life was now  
imitating what she had once openly mocked.  
  
"They don't think she's going to make it. There's not  
much time. You need to be  
here; I'll come get--"  
  
There was a switch in her brain and Chloe felt it flip.  
She kicked into calm professional reporter gear. "No,  
you stay there with her. I'll call the Howe's."   
  
She stood up to press the receiver and immediately  
started dialing Mr. Howe's cell phone number. The diner  
party was only down the street; they would be able to  
get here quickly.  
  
Curious, Francis wandered into the kitchen and stared  
at her. No doubt he was listening to her speak into the  
receiver, "Hi. Mr. Howe? It's Chloe. Sorry to  
interrupt but it's an emergency." She looked up at  
Francis who was biting his nails at the moment. "No,  
Francis is fine. Actually, my dad just called and my  
mom is in the hospital. It's pretty serious and I need  
to get down there but I don't want my dad to leave so--"  
  
Mr. Howe interrupted her and told her they'd be over in  
the car right away.   
  
Chloe hung up the phone for the second time and stared  
at the front door. Some part of her was telling Francis  
to go ahead and race without her.  
  
She was transfixed by the front door, the dark windows,  
the barely lit house. Chloe couldn't help but  
wonder...what if? What if she just never left this  
house. What if she just remained and went back to  
playing video games with Francis; went back to before  
her mother was intensive care.   
  
She felt both free and trapped in her own Nevernever  
Land.  
**************************  
As soon as she was invited Chloe knew it was some kind  
of geek outreach program. It had to be.   
  
Some mother came up with the half-baked idea of a trip  
to the Mall of Metropolis as a way to connect with the  
poor little girl who lost her mother. She imagined  
the house-wife sitting in the Starbuck's at Barnes And  
Noble with the rest of her book club.  
  
The woman telling all her house-wives friends about the  
poor girl who lost her mother right before she started  
middle school. She could see the mother getting  
all misty eyed and saying, "And you know, they say the  
poor dear never even got to say goodbye...So you know  
what I think we should do? Get our girls to invite  
her out this weekend. My Morgan tells me she's a bit of  
a recluse. "  
  
She felt ashamed. She hated their pity.  
  
She only went because she knew it would make her dad  
happy. He worried about her a lot lately. So she  
followed the girls around the mall as they flitted from  
Claire's to The Icing to The Limited Too and giggled as  
they passed Spencer's.   
  
These girls were a mystery to her. The way their whole  
lives seemed to consist of boys and clothes. Any other  
topic they discussed was just a subtle variation of  
those two themes. How could they already wear so much  
makeup? Why did they seem to think as a pack?  
  
Chloe drew the line when they wanted her to go into  
Abercrombie & Fitch with them. When they weren't  
verbally ripping their enemies to shreds and being  
superficial and snobby and well...The point was most  
of them had made an effort to make polite but stilted  
small-talk with Chloe. Whether their mothers had  
collectively put them up to it or not it was still a  
nice gesture.  
  
But. she. was. not. going. into. Abercrombie.  
  
They asked why but she just repeated that she was not  
going inside. They all just shrugged. Someone, Abby,  
Chloe thought, told her to just wait outside then.  
  
When they came back out each one of them was carrying  
at least one more bag. Ashley declared that she was  
thirsty and wanted to go to Panera Bread so they all  
became thirsty and wanted to go to Panera Bread.   
  
Ashley went first and ordered a "Small I.C. Mocha". The  
first girl behind the counter nodded and took her  
money. The second girl made the I.C. Mocha. Then Sarah  
went and ordered the same thing. When Morgan also  
ordered a small I.C. Mocha the second girl snapped.   
  
Looking at the gaggle of girls standing before the  
counter she said, "Do the rest of want a small I.C.  
Mocha because I can make them all at the same time and  
it won't take as long."  
  
Everyone nodded except for Chloe who said she didn't  
want anything.  
  
They all sat down cafe area and tried to look adult  
while sipping their drinks and assessing the  
passers-by. Chloe couldn't help but stare at Teresa's  
Abercrombie bag. On it were several extremely ripped  
young men playing football or doing some other  
wholesome American thing.   
  
Staring at one of the boys chiseled abs she suddenly  
launched into a rant before she knew what she was  
doing. "You know, the male models of Abercrombie &  
Fitch and other stores have produced a kind of reverse  
anorexia in teenage boys. I read an article about it. Now teens and even pre-teen guys feel pressured to  
spend hours at the gym lifting weights and taking  
dangerous steroids to fit their own unhealthy ideal.  
I think it's sad."  
  
The response uncomfortable and absolute silence.  
Several girls were chewing on their straws nervously  
and staring blankly into space. Someone coughed and  
Morgan suddenly declared that she wanted to go into  
Banana Republic. The pack followed.  
  
Chloe trailed behind and she knew she wasn't going to  
be invited here again.  
******************  
Chloe lay curled up on the bed in her mother's room.  
Although the sheets had long since stopped smelling of  
her mother's jasmine perfume Chloe still found the bed  
comforting. She had knees tucked up under her chin and  
she had pulled her mother's UMKC-MS sweatshirt over her  
legs.   
  
In between the blur of angry tears she stared at the  
white Windsor chair across the room. If Chloe  
concentrated she could still remember her mother  
sitting there reading with her long dark brown hair  
framing her face. Her careful surgeon's hands mending  
one of Chloe's shirts.  
  
Chloe cried harder when she realized what she saw was  
no longer an actual memory. It was just a composite of  
pictures of her mother hanging around the house. And  
all she had left. Her mother was fading.  
  
In all her years of researching the paranormal Chloe  
never imagined she would wish her mother to be a ghost.  
If she was then Chloe would be able to still see her  
and maybe even talk to her.  
  
The house was the only place left where she could  
imagine her mother was still alive. Every morning in  
the haze of not-yet consciousness Chloe swore she could  
hear her mother singing "Good-Day Sunshine" like she  
would when she made fresh orange juice. Sometimes when  
her dad came home and opened the garage door Chloe  
would pretend that it was really her mother coming home  
after a long medical conference.  
  
Chloe bit her lip and when she looked back to the armchair her mother was gone. She frantically tried again and again  
unsuccessfully to conjure up the image her mother.  
  
The house was nearly 100 years old, built during the  
Metropolis boom at the turn of the century. Chloe had  
spent her whole life in a house with a historical plac  
at the front door and could not imagine living anywhere  
else except maybe a corner office at the Daily Planet.   
  
But for now home was a white Victorian three story  
complete with a wrap-around porch, a turret, and  
gingerbread paneling. It was the sound of her mother's  
wind chimes on the front porch and bright bursts of  
colors in the garden out back.  
  
She heard her dad climbing up the creaky wooden stairs.  
In the reflection of the dressing mirror Gabe Sullivan  
entered the bedroom. Chloe saw him look at her  
curled up frame and she avoided his reflection's eyes.  
  
"Chloe..." he said the word and they both let it fall  
into silence. Gabe Sullivan shifted his feet  
uncomfortably, "I know you're upset about selling the  
house. It holds a lot of memories for me too. But you  
have to understand that the position at the Smallville  
plant is a promotion. I'll be a manager and making more  
money. Money that we need. You know maybe it'll be good  
for us to get out of this place. Move on..." He sighed.  
  
She watched his reflection turn and go down the stairs.  
As she uncurled herself and got off the bed she heard  
an outside door closed. She wasn't ready for what she  
saw next.  
  
Her mother stood across from her with long brown hair,  
bright blue eyes and tear stained cheeks. Chloe stood  
there stunned for several seconds until she realized  
that it was not her mother but in fact her own  
reflection.  
  
So her father wanted her to move on. To forget. How was  
she supposed to forget when every time she saw her  
reflection her mother stared back?   
  
A small cement circle sat on the dresser. "Happy Mother's Day Mom! Love, Chloe" and the tiny handprint of kindergartener pressed into stone. She could remember the cool sticky feel of the wet cement on her hands.   
  
In one swift movement she grabbed the disk and hurled it at her mother. The individual shards of glass tinkled on their way down.  
  
But instead of seeing her mother once in the reflection Chloe saw her mother dozens of times. Chloe, frustrated but determined, walked over to the Windsor chair reaching beside   
it she pulled out a pair of scissors from the sewing basket.  
She knelt before the shards and slowly and carefully  
cut her hair from left to right.   
  
When she was done the shards showed that her shorn hair only minutely diminished the resemblance. Well, she would fix that.  
  
In her room she emptied her piggy bank. Her father was  
outside washing the car and when she exited the house  
minus the waist length hair he said nothing. He  
recognized the balled up fists and determined gait as a  
force not to be questioned. Chloe walked quickly down  
the sidewalk in the direction of the corner drugstore.  
  
Her few friends remained similarly silent on the first  
day of the Chloe's last week at Metro-North Junior High  
School. They tried their best not to stare at her new  
drastically shorter blonder and asymmetrical hair or the  
dark circles under her eyes.  
*********** 


End file.
